


Dirty Bad Ending

by CloudyGrandkid



Category: Dirty - grandson, grandson (Musician)
Genre: Bad end, DOAO, Death by lethal injection, Death of an Optimist, Dirty Bad Ending, alter ego
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:34:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudyGrandkid/pseuds/CloudyGrandkid
Summary: G tries and fails to get rid of his alter ego X, getting captured and subdued. It is only fitting to X that G is ended how he would have ended up.
Kudos: 1





	Dirty Bad Ending

G's heart was racing as he followed along with the dancing. He was struggling to keep his breathing quiet and even, quiet the racing of his heart, the voices in his head yelling. The fear was overwhelming, but he managed to stay in time with the other three masked one's dancing. The syringe filled with mystery fluid sat tucked under his sleeve, bouncing about as he moved in time, sometimes pricking him a little, but that was okay… He could deal with tiny pricks. The voices screaming were more worrying.. He had to not blow his cover…

As it seemed to calm down, and the other three resumed a neutral position, hands behind their backs, G slipped the syringe from his sleeve and held it in his left hand. Carefully, he tried to keep it concealed as he stepped forward slightly. X was doing…. Something. Just standing there. Perfect. He crept forward, and the syringe held carefully, stabbed it at X's neck. 

But something went wrong. X turned and stared at him, into his soul. A second later, and he was pinned down and unmasked. The syringe wrangled from his grasp… He'd failed. He breathed heavily as he looked up at X, trying to not shake or break down. He struggled against the grasp of the two atop him, but failed. A firm kick to the side from X made him cry out in pain, tears pricking his eyes as he stared up, up into the eyes of his echo, his demon, his alter ego, his fucked up voice….

X said nothing. His expression read amusement and disgust at the same time. The same disgust he had expressed earlier upon seeing G in that room. All G could do was stare up at his physical mirror. X stepped around him, assessing him, and flicked his wrist in that weird way he seemed to have to. More pushing his wrist forward with hand slightly curved than a full wave. 

G groaned a little as he was picked up, slung over a shoulder, and quickly restrained, arms and legs bound with chains. He flailed and tried to kick them, but his attempts were in vain. He made yells of protest as he was restrained, only to have a rag stuffed in his mouth. His muffled yells were desperate and angry, and he thrashed about, but the one who carried him, well their grip was strong, and he couldn't do anything but just watch himself be carried along. As he was carried away, he stared at X, but when he saw X pick the syringe up, and follow, he felt his heart sink, and his struggling became more desperate. 

He was carried along the corridors with no incident. Despite his struggling and muffled yells, no one cared. X walked behind G, looking him over. A look of constant disgust was settled on his face for the most part, but he also seemed erratic. Sometimes he mumbled things, sometimes he twitched, sometimes he straightened his tie, sometimes he giggled. The masked ones around him acted as if this was normal, and all seemed to keep their focus on G. Of course, this was expected. He tried to kill their leader, after all. 

G looked away from X, but he felt the male's glare on him still. He closed his eyes, and tried to picture better times. Nicer times, before X took over and everything went to crap. Performing for the Grandkids, making music, socialising… He missed the days before X. Now he was forced to work a state-mandated boring desk job, forced to stare at a computer for hours. Of course, he never did his job or followed the rules. He, Grandson, would not be silenced. He broke dress code, lazed about, smoked weed and cigarettes on the grounds, came in drunk, made a fool of himself for the fun of it… His X-supporting coworkers, the poor souls they were, hated him for this. Report after report to HR did nothing, as X seemed to want G to break. But G wouldn't ever break. 

His thoughts drifted around, thinking of his past life, and it comforted him. Although X had censored him so much, he still fought, and was proud. If he was dying today, he'd do it with a damn smile. 

A door opening and him being thrown in a chair brought him back to reality. He opened an eye and looked about. He was being restrained in the room. X stood in the corner, mumbling to himself as he felt the end of the needle. He initiated stabbing it in himself and dying, laughing after. G also noticed a camera, and felt fear build up… The sick fuck was broadcasting G's execution! He writhed around in his restraints, but they did not give. A twitch followed, and he glared at X, only to be slapped harshly by one of the masked guards. 

X turned to the camera, and held the syringe in his left hand. A few seconds of silence, and he spoke. His voice was like G's, but raspy and with a crazy undertone.

"Good afternoon everyone. I hope everyone has been well and obedient today. Because if you haven't, well… i suppose I shall mark why we stay obedient." 

He stepped aside, G now in full view of the camera.

"Jordan Edward Benjamin, or Grandson as some might know him as. Twenty-six, a life still so ahead of him… He could have been so good for me! If only he had obeyed like the rest of us! He could have made amazing music for our state! He could have been an ally! But no, he is what's wrong with humans." 

X stepped forward, grabbing G's chin in a way that was uncomfortable. The two alter ego's eyes met for a second, before X looked away. "Lazy, gluttonous, inappropriate, out of touch, crude…. The list goes on. A disgusting little fucking cretin," His grip tightened, nails digigng into G's flesh. "Who needs to be put down." 

The syringe was placed on the table in front of G, and he stared at it. The weapon he tried to use against X, used against him. How obvious and ironic. 

X moved away from G, and picked the syringe up, poking the pointed tip. Two hands grabbed each of his shoulders, and another came behind him, removing the rag. G growled, but said nothing. He only… smiled. Insane, he knew, but by this point his sanity was all but shattered.

"Any last words, Mr Benjamin?" X spoke with a smirk. "Your dear fans are going to see your last breathing moments, and you will be an example of failure. Make your last words count, I'd say. But a pothead fatass like yourself wouldn't care enough for good words, hm?" 

G said nothing for a few moments. His end was close. His breathing hitched for just a moment, thinking of all the people he would leave behind, but the thought passed as he desperately thought for the most impactful words… He looked around, calmed his breathing, and spoke, not a quiver in his voice.

"You can put me down, but the truth won't die." G glared at X. "Cunts like you won't live forever. Maybe not this generation, not the next, not the next after….." He sat up, staring straight into the camera. "One of these coming generations will end your tyranny. Your crimes will be served back thrice as hard."

X mockingly clapped, looking about quickly, smile large on his face. "Haha, what vile but poetic words. It'll go on your gravestone, don't worry." He stepped forward, and placed the needle to G's neck. 

G closed his eyes, smiling.

The needle pressed in, and the fluid injected.

G kept himself calm as he felt it fading. He closed his eyes, and thought of the good times. His thoughts lingered on his parents, siblings, girlfriend, best friends, the Grandkids… The people who made Jordan Edward Benjamin more than just a person. The people who pushed him, supported him, and allowed him to become Grandson. As he felt himself fade, he whispered something so quietly, he hoped no one would hear it…

"See you all in Paradise…" G spoke quietly, and then he fell limp. Everything went black for him, and that was that. Two fingers were placed to his neck to confirm no pulse, and after a nod from one of his masked assistants, X pulled the needle out and addressed the camera.

"This is what will happen if you don't obey. You'll become like him. Lifeless and forgettable. A failure. I hope no one becomes like that."

The broadcast ended, and X couldn't help a laugh. His assistants unrestrained the now dead G. X clamly walked over, and looked him over. He was still warm, dead but smiling. Opening one of his eyelids, his green-blue eye was glassy, focusing on nothing. He didn't react to the touch. Nor did he react as X felt G's short, curled hair. He didn't react either as X slipped G's denim hoodie from him. Left arm and right arm out, and he held the jacket that G had been known for. 

"Burn his body." X commanded. G was dragged out of the room, now leaving X alone. He stepped out into the corridor, and fixed some stray hairs. He looked around, and learnt against the wall as he turned the jacket around to regard the back. 

'Death of an Optimist' was painted on the back in a dramatic font, in a glaring white. To the bottom right of the hoodie, G's 'grandson' emblem, a silhouetted image of his face, with no features besides two X's to mark out his eyes was sewn on with fabric. The hoodie was well cared for, no damage or stains, or even sweat smell. As X looked closer, he saw frays in the fabric or peeling paint which had been precisely fixed. G really treasured this ridiculous jacket. 

After a moment of pondering, X sighed. He would have thrown it into the fires if it was anyone else, but G wasn't just 'someone else'. He was the one X had chosen to try and break. But it never worked. G was so resistant…. But now he was just a limp body, soon about to be burnt and be nothing but ash… He held the jacket, pondering, and then spoke into an invisible earpiece.

"You three who have G. I want his ashes cased up. I want to present the urn in my office, as a reminder to everyone."

Hearing a monotone 'Yes Sir' in reply, X chuckled, and carefully held the jacket as he stepped not to his office, but to a storage closet to find a mannequin on which to display the jacket. He would make a display of it, to commemorate G specially. He was different, after all. He was outspoken to the very end… It was bittersweet, X concluded to himself… Bittersweet and peculiar, but honourable and brave, in a weird way that X failed to understand...


End file.
